


Of oil paints, monologues, and 36 questions

by silvervelour



Series: Of oil paints, monologues, and 36 questions [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: And 36 questions, Art student Sasha, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Of oil paints, Recreational Drug Use, Theatre student Shea, monologues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-14 23:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour
Summary: Shea’s eyes locked with Sasha’s, her own idea not seeming as grand as it did moments prior. She shrugged, irregardless of the kaleidoscopes flickering in her view and lightness of her head, the way her palms had began sweating nervously and the unwitting twitch of her nose.“Let’s do it, I’ll start?”.





	1. Chapter 1

Fingers skidded elegantly. They smoothed and they glided across the blank canvas, spreading bright waves of red and fuchsia in their wake. Sunset yellow and muted ochre followed, lights of elation infiltrating a terrifying and anxious world as midnight black became the final colour. Architectural silhouettes of grand buildings and structures found their way in to the fantastical creation, emblems of existence and ever afters. Lilac and powder blue smudged and amalgamated in the background; a view through rose tinted glass windows.

Sasha took a step back from her easel. Paint smeared up the lengths of her bare arms and her white shirt in greasy markings accompanied the charcoal brushings across her snow legs and down to her feet, nails painted magenta and cold from the breeze of the relaxed summer air entering through the open windows of her studio.

She didn’t smile instantly as her work came into perspective. It was  _far_  from the kind of perfect that Sasha strived for in every thing she glanced at or laid her hands on.

Skyscrapers that were meant to stand out and portray individuality and uniqueness faded in to the synonymity of the background, failing to make an impact. Flecks of lemon and cream that were meant to act as flares of light had become tainted with the depth of chocolates and beiges, leaving them seemingly worthless.

Trailing across the room to set her pallet on a rickety, worn table, the sheet she’d set out to prevent paint from splashing on to the wooden floorboards proving to be more of a hinderance than a help, Sasha sighed. Running colour slathered fingertips through the front of her shoulder length, unruly, wavy blonde hair, she acknowledged that she was doing nothing to help her current situation. Murky rainbows of oil were streaked through the front strands, unflattering clumps of irritating white finding its way to the tendrils by her ears.

Frowning, she made her way to the sink, the water repelling and refusing to remove the majority of the stubborn medium from the skin of her hands. Relenting and drying off her hands on an ink stained rag, Sasha began searching for her phone that she’d misplaced hours previously in the midst of her somewhat inspired outburst. The rows of used canvases and rolled up paper stacked on the opposite side of the room reminded her of why -  _why_  she’d stepped far outside of her comfort zone, stretching her familiarity too far.

 _Experimentation_.

Sasha found it almost laughable. Encouragement and words of unrestricted advice from outsiders left her in a slump of believing that her art wasn’t up to a non existent standard amongst artists and innovators. She’d become accustomed to producing intricate, detailed portraits using everything from acrylic to gouache, encaustics to watercolour, yet  _rarely_  oil and  _never_  without her signature fine liner brush.

Landscapes were a ground that she had not trod upon. The grass remained fresh and the buildings were nothing but blueprints when her lecturer and  _questionably_  Russian friend Katya suggested trying something new. Sasha was weary about changing her style of art to something unbeknownst to herself. It seemed unnatural, contrived and artificial.  _Break out of that box._  
  
Throughout the recent years of her life, the  _legitimately_  Russian girl had been, self admittedly, reckless. Sasha shaved her head bald at sixteen in a sporadic spur of the moment decision, and most recently at twenty she’d bleached her mouse brown hair that had grown in over the duration of the four years to an icy, white blonde. She’d made the cross country move at eighteen from Chicago, Illinois to New York despite her families protests and pleas not for her to depart. When painting, she would wear what ever clothing she was currently wearing, because  _who cares_ , she would justify,  _clothing holds no sentiment._

Art was different. To Sasha, her way of meticulousness when it came to painting and sketching held a sense of pride and achievement; a constant in an ever evolving life, society,  _world_.

Sasha located her phone amongst her numerous boxes of chalks and pastels, the red case that matched the striking lipstick she wore on an almost daily basis covered with constellations of forest green and plum purple, courtesy of an open tray of aforementioned pastels. Flicking away the colourful dust, Sasha unlocked her phone to three messages and one missed call.

**Katya: missed call**

**Katya: are you alive?  
**   
**Katya: did you drown in oil paint?  
**   
**Katya: call me back once you’re out of your creative funk, bitch**

Scraping her hair that would undoubtably need a wash and a deep condition later that night in to an elastic, Sasha proceeded to press call followed by loudspeaker. Perching her phone on the worktop whilst she hustled around in a vague, halfhearted attempt at organising the studio she allowed herself a moment to disregard the thought of the impending deadline for her final pieces for the semester.

The monotonous dial tone filled her ears, the definitive sound of waiting and lack of patience as she figuratively sent a telepathic signal to Katya at the other end of the college dormitories to answer her phone. The repetitive beeping continued longer than Sasha ever wished it would before Katya’s overly zealous personality trickled through the phone line.

“Nice to know you’re alive”. Greeted Katya, the distinctive sound of an inhalation of cigarette smoke trailing off of her words. Sasha huffed, throwing herself on to the tattered old couch that she kept in the room, taking her phone with her and switching off the loudspeaker.

“Says you, could you have taken any longer to pick up the phone?”. Sasha retaliated, scraping remnants of what was once a perfected black and white manicure off of her nails.

“Could you have taken any longer to actually call me back?”. Retorted Katya instantly, her quick wit incomparable.

“Touché-”. Sasha quipped, eyes rolling to herself as she heard Katya let out a choked cough, giggles following in the background.  _Strange_ , Sasha acknowledged, not knowing Katya as an individual who liked to spend much time around others.  _At all_. An extroverted introvert.

“-anyway, you wanted me to call you because?”. Continued Sasha, time on borrowed hands. Reclining, she leant her head against the back of the couch, stretching out the tense muscles in her neck.

“Right, yeah, ok-”. Hurried Katya, arranging her permanently chaotic thoughts in to something resembling sensical words. “-so, I know you’re really busy with stuff, and like, I get that, but I’m with Trixie and her, you know, theatre friends right now, and they’re looking for somebody to come up with a creative-ish type of contextual  _buffoonery_  of a costume for one girls final monologue and I-”.

Katya paused, presumably in order to inhale and allow oxygen in to her lungs, words flowing out of her being at such a rate that she exhausted her breath. Sasha remained as perplexed as she had been initially when Katya had told her to call her back. She’d gathered that Katya was with Trixie, her  _almost_  girlfriend, and Trixie’s friends from the theatre strand. She’d also understood that Katya, or rather Trixie and her friends were in need of some form of help. Which form; she knew little of.

“In English?”. Mumbled Sasha, mouth dry and coarse from overworking, worry, and dehydration. Licking at her slightly chapped lips and removing any remnants of lipstick that remained from the day, Sasha listened intently to Katya’s faint whispering to the people surrounding her.

“What I mean is, would you help?, I know you’re best at portraits, and I know that you’ve probably spent the afternoon stressing over being awful at landscapes, but I just know you’ll be perfect for this! I’d do it myself but-”. Katya trailed off without a legitimate excuse, making Sasha chuckle lightheartedly.

Katya wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t  _right_  either, Sasha noted, yet she was light years away from being incorrect. Sasha had a firm background in costume design, her first two years at college having been spent studying said subject, gaining high grades throughout and only switching to fine art in order to broaden her portfolio. Unconvinced, Sasha prepared her protests.

“Look, come over to my place and we can all talk it through, maybe?”. Katya threw in to the conversation, adding a tentative tone to her voice even as her significantly boisterous volume bellowed from the opposite end of the phone.

“I-”. Sasha paused, the clock on the wall adjacent to old outlines and sketches of gowns and miscellaneous clothing items garnering her attention. Seven in the evening. “-now?”. Queried Sasha, biting nervously at the corners of her deteriorated nails; a habit that she knew she needed to kick.

“Yes girl!”. Katya screeched, Sasha’s eyes flickering towards the ceiling in an adverse reaction to the shrill sound of the speaker against her ear. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sasha lamented.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”. Sasha questioned, uncertainty interweaving itself with her every word. She trusted Katya, for the most part, yet her generic insecurities and insuppressible self deprecating nature drove her to the instant belief that  _no, I can’t do this.  
_  
“I’ve got you, I’m sure! Look, you filthy art whore, if it makes you more comfortable I can make sure it’s just me, Trix, and Shea here when you come over. I know I wouldn’t want to be exploited for my skills around a bunch of people that I-”. Sasha sneered inelegantly and Katya’s speech, an airy giggle following shortly after.

“Is, who did you say? -  _Shea_? - the girl I’ll be working with, designing the costume for?”. Sasha’s eyebrows knitted together at the mention of the unfamiliar name.  _Shea_. Sasha flicked through her memories briskly, unable to remember wether or not herself and Shea had been acquainted at some point during their duration at the college.  _Probably not_ , established Sasha.  _I’d remember a name like Shea._

“Yeah-”. Drawled Katya, mouth curving into a delicate smile. “-she’s in Trixie’s theatre group. Hilarious by the way,  _oh_! - and she brought blunts”. Katya exclaimed, luring Sasha with the proposition of good company and the opportunity to smoke and get high after a stress filled day;  _or week_.

Sasha blinked slowly and chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over Katya’s offer carefully. The sight of the disarranged studio around her alerted her to remember about the pieces she still had yet to complete for the end of the semester, along with the amount of clutter she needed to coordinate.  _Take a break_ , she encouraged herself.  _Take a break, and help somebody else out while you’re at it._

“Alright”. Sasha uttered, cheers and excited squeals meeting her ears. Elongating her legs and relaxing her joints, she stood up, already promptly slipping on her shoes that were sat next to her coat rack. Glancing at her reflection in a cracked mirror hooked on the wall, Sasha grimaced audibly.

“What?”. Katya’s tone dropped, apprehension lacing her question.

“I look like the human embodiment of death-”. Sasha groaned. “-if death had been in a paint factory explosion and hadn’t bathed for seventeen years”. Continuation of over exaggeration. Katya began cackling, Sasha imagining her arms flailing to herself and hands slapping excitedly at her own thighs.

“So, your everyday look?”. Katya teased, laughing to herself manically. Sasha’s jaw fell slack, disbelief encompassing her features. Taking out the elastic from her dishevelled hair and throwing a beanie on in an apathetic attempt to make herself look more presentable, she began grinning.

“You’re an idiot”. Bantered Sasha, her friends wheezing calming and diminishing to a low chuckle. Picking up the keys to her studio which were adorned with countless tchotchkes and key rings from Disneyland to the local art gallery, Sasha slipped on a chunkily knitted sweater, if only to cover the stains on her shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, what else is new. Hurry up and get here, I’ll see ‘ya soon!”. Finished Katya, ending the call with a press of her thumb and a further irritating dial tone that Sasha had always despised.

Sasha shook her head to herself unwittingly, neglecting to close the windows to her studio as she left, locking the doors behind her. Mystical breeze continued to whirl around her being as she walked down the corridor and to the parking lot, a lightness in her step that hadn’t been present during the most recent of times. Walking passed her car decisively with the warm, setting sun beating down on her pale skin and the high rise buildings around her shielding her from the glare of the world, Sasha allowed any residual ounces of stress leave her body.

Breathing in the scent of summer, she began walking down the Main Street to the dormitories. She could get to Katya’s in less than ten minutes.

*****

Katya lived on the fifth and highest floor of her building; a fact which Sasha often forgot and grew to loathe when she recalled. The structure was old, ancient. With its traditional late eighteen hundreds or possibly early nineteen hundreds architecture, featuring floral engravings on the ivory walls and beams along with linear pillars lining the staircases, Sasha almost didn’t mind the lack of elevator present.

 _Almost_.

Climbing the sturdy concrete stairs in the chill of winter was nothing to complain about, yet it became a struggle when summer hit, and the weather outside was scorching with humidity. Sasha regretted her choice of clothing instantly; a knitted sweater, beanie and shorts becoming her nemesis by the time she had reached the third floor.

Her phone buzzed with a message as she ascended the final flight of stairs many torturous minutes later, startling her from her state of focus.

**Katya: doors open as always, let yourself in**

Anxiety filled her thoughts, worries of unfamiliar people and failing at what she knew she was best at. Art. She didn’t know if Katya had kept to her word and made sure it was just herself, Katya, Trixie and the other girl -  _Shea_  - that would be there, yet Sasha found herself praying to unknown deities that it would be.

From the outside, Sasha could hear the faint harmonies of melodic pop songs blaring from Katya’s distrustfully functioning speaker. Voices that Sasha recognised from her car radio flew into her ears, ones that given the option, she would scarcely listen to.  _Introduce Katya to some half decent music_ , she prompted herself. The tune switched as her hand encased the door handle, a comforting country ballad taking its place. Trixie’s choice, no doubt.

Stepping inside of the dorm, Sasha was greeted with the unmistakable signature scent that surrounded Katya; cigarette smoke and the cheap floral perfume she often used in an attempt to disguise it. It would have been disgusting at one point in time to the Russian girl, yet as her and Katya’s friendship grew, so did her tolerance and almost enjoyment of the smell. Sasha attributed the fact to familiarity. A sense of comfort and safety.

The room was encompassed in a warm orange glow, emphasised by the attenuating force of the sun streaking through red curtains and candles that Katya had lit across the entirety of the room  _because mood lighting, Sasha_. The music seemed quieter from inside than it had when she had been stood outside the door, barely audible as Katya began excitedly greeting Sasha with an already ignited blunt balancing between her fingertips.

“There you are! I didn’t know if you’d actually come or not”. Teetered the darker blonde, mumbling towards the end of her sentence, slinging an arm loosely around Sasha’s shoulders.

“You had me sold at blunts”. Sasha drawled, sneaking the blunt out of Katya’s grasp and into her own, inhaling the welcomed source of relaxation.

“Works every time-”. Katya paused. “I’ll write a book one day, ’ _how to lure Sasha Velour_ ’, it’ll be like, a paragraph long and just say ’ _paint, girls, blunts, red lipstick and an eyebrow pencil_ ’, great idea I’m telling ‘ya”. Giggled Katya, illegible sentences and murmurs rolling off of her tongue like autumn leaves down a freely flowing river.

“How much’ve you had?”. Jived Sasha, releasing the smoke from her lungs slowly, deflating, shimmying passed the other girl and in to the larger section of the room where Trixie and the unacquainted girl -  _Shea_  - sat on the antique couch, bowl of popcorn situated between them.

“Too much”. Trixie intercepted, shuffling in order to make room for Sasha on the couch between herself and Shea, pillows scattered haphazardly and a crocheted blanket draped across the arm rest.

“I can tell”. Sniggered Sasha, inhaling and exhaling smoke that travelled elegantly through the air, vanishing in to nothingness.

“Shut your hole”. Katya grinned sarcastically, slotting herself the other side of Trixie. Sasha rolled her eyes fondly, willing herself to ignore Katya’s retorts and laughter.

Twisting her neck around and tilting her head at a minuscule angle, Sasha turned to face Shea, sat confidently with a strong presence despite a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her plump lips - coated in glittering pink lipgloss. Her face seemed to match on first glance, a dusting of periwinkle across her eyelids and a rosé splash defining her cheeks, Sasha observed, her love for coordinated colours drawing her in by a thread of cotton - that hung from the neckline of Shea’s oversized navy shirt.

Sasha’s eyes twinkled, traveling to Shea’s hair, bouncy waves with one side tucked behind her ear, marshmallow pink earrings adorning her exposed lobe.  _She’s pretty_ , noted Sasha.  _Aesthetically pleasing_  - she mused, though the theatre girl was not a painting, she may have still been a detailed sketch.

“I like your colours”. It was blurted in to the easy atmosphere, sun outside setting in milliseconds as Sasha finished her first joint, throwing the extinguished sword of intoxication in to the nearest empty candle holder; a make shift ashtray. Shea beamed in response, eyes drooped and noticeably blood shot.

“I like yours too-”. Shea shrugged, motioning vaguely to the paint splatters trailing up Sasha’s fingers, presenting another blunt to Sasha in the palm of her hand, lighter in the other. “Sasha, right?”. Clarified Shea, receiving a slow nod in response.

“And you’re Shea?”. The Russian queried, taking the joint gratefully from Shea and kindling it.  _Inhale. Hold. Exhale._

“The one and only, girl”. The exchange was simple. Both girls slightly inebriated and careless, Shea more so than Sasha, left little room for any awkwardness or tentativeness. Consistent smoking since she had arrived saw the bleach blonde nearly disregard and forget the reason Katya had told her to come over in the beginning. Nearly, and yet -  _not entirely._

Shea reclined further into the couch, posture slouching and demeanour softening. Sasha followed, Katya’s elbow digging irritatingly into her ribcage on one side of her being and Shea reaching over to claim the half smoked joint on the other.

“Designing-”. Sasha stammered. “-Monologue?”. She remembered, discarding her phone on the coffee table in front of her and focusing most of her available attention on Shea, both Trixie and Katya already absorbed in each others presence - in pink and red and  _green_.

“Final monologues for the semester, we get graded-”. Explained Shea, glimmering lips wrapping gracefully around the joint. “-I had some ideas for a costume to go with it, and I asked Katya but she just-”. Shea trailed off, arm outstretching and motioning towards Katya and Trixie, who were giggling in to each other’s necks as if both Sasha and Shea had evaporated, disappeared.

The room was lighter and darker now than when she had first arrived, the ground waltzing beneath her, carting her off into a universe she sometimes wished she could live in for eternity. Where time was a myth and the people she didn’t know became more than known immediately with a flower and a lighter. Where speech was futile in communication and the next day nothing had happened. No otherworldly, deathly hangover to remind you of  _what_ , and nothing but fingerprints of ash on clothing to tell you  _why_.

“I’ll help”. Sasha hummed, thumbs brushing across the smooth velvet of the couch, senses heightened, touch enhanced.

“You’d do that?”. Shea arched a sculpted eyebrow, smiling gleefully. Katya turned to look at both girls momentarily, Trixie leaving the couch and stalking towards the door to Katya’s bedroom. Sasha grinned lopsidedly, the lack of subtlety laughable.

“You’ve been talking for five-ish minutes, is it safe to say you don’t hate each other? Can I leave you two? Can I trust you not to destroy the room?”. Katya babbled, disclosing nothing and yet everything, hands twitching. Shea chortled openly, leaning subconsciously into Sasha’s shoulder.

“Bitch, go, we’re fine, go and fuck your girlfriend”. Demanded Shea, ushering Katya away with a sly wink, leaving Katya a flushing, fumbling, radiant mess. Disposing her blunt in the same empty candle holder that Sasha had used, Katya slipped out of the room.

“She’s  _not_  my girlfriend-”. Whined Katya over her shoulder, brushing her fingers through her untameable hair. Shea rolled her eyes, Sasha sniggering quietly to herself. “-I swear!”. Finished Katya, voice hoarse and rough, denial evident.

“Use protection!”. Sasha called after her as the door separating the two rooms slammed shut, childlike humour permeating through her serious exterior. Shea shrieked, slapping Sasha’s forearm excitedly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“You-”. Shea’s attempt at speaking proved to be delusive, giggles overtaking her body, chest heaving and arms flailing aimlessly. Sasha’s head lolled against the backrest of the couch, beanie sliding off and the corners of her mouth upturned in a content smile.

“I thought Katya would be the only person I’d have to deal with flapping like a penguin flying for the first time tonight”. Sasha allowed her eyes to flutter closed in the candle illuminated light, teasing comment racing off of the tip of her smoke dry tongue. Next to her, Shea snorted inelegantly, laughter being cut short.

“I like you-”. Shea deadpanned, turning to face Sasha, whose eyes remained closed. “-when Katya described you as some ’ _academic serious art nerd_ ’, I thought I’d regret asking for your help”. She finalised, gesticulating wildly with her hands as Sasha’s orbs opened and met hers.

“M'glad I exceeded your expectations?”. Phrased like a question, the Russian girl shrugged, hand retrieving popcorn from the bowl that had been forgotten about. Shea nodded dismissively, blinking away a blur that had settled from focusing on a singular flame for a second too long.

“You’d seriously help me with my costume, though?”. Backtracking. Shea returned to their previous conversation, before Katya and Trixie had left them to their own devices, speaker still playing early country compositions softly in the background.

“Of course-”. Sasha nodded, receiving the joint that Shea handed back to her gratefully and graciously. “-I wasn’t sure at first, but I need a break from my usual work and if I can help you out while doing that then it’s a win win situation”.  _Inhale. Hold. Exhale._

“It means a lot girl, so thank you”. Shea kept her smile hidden, the throw pillow that she’d picked up from the couch nestled against her body tightly. Shaking her head, insistent that helping Shea out wasn’t a burden, Sasha pulled the pillow away only to hit the other girl jokingly with it.

“We should get to know each other a little, I guess, before I even attempt to design you a costume-”. Projected Sasha, subject switched and generic ice-breaker statement released in to the thick air surrounding them, her belief that connection formed the best artwork.

“-We’ll go for a coffee or something next week, I don’t know-”. She continued, deciding it was probably - definitely - for the best that they spoke about costume design concepts and the context behind them when they weren’t both in a state of ecstasy, flying high and giggling through the New York skyscrapers.

“Coffee sounds good-”. Shea smiled innocently, twiddling her thumbs between the threads of her shirt. Sasha nodded once. “-Until then, how do you suggest we get to know each other’?”. Her eyes flickered under her long, curly dark lashes.

Sasha’s mind whirled. Specks of dust floated around her head, reflecting microscopic particles of light. The red curtains looked almost burgundy with no sunlight blasting through them, emulating a luxurious French wine. Walls cluttered with picture frames and polaroids, sketches and ornaments felt claustrophobic, compared to the floor beneath her that could have travelled perpetually. A Grand Canyon, a Mariana Trench. Crossing her legs the opposite way, she turned to face the brown eyed girl, corners of her mouth quirked up.

“Maybe we could-”. Sasha extended her arm to the coffee table in front of her, retrieving her phone that she’d discarded there. “-ok don’t think I’m insane but, Katya does this thing sometimes when she firsts meets people, and I think it’s ‘kinda cool. There’s these questions that you answer, and they’re meant to-”. Sasha halted, Shea’s hand coming into her view and slipping her phone with the list of questions visible on the screen from her grasp.

“Is this the ’ _36 questions_ ’ thing? Katya did this with me too. I think it definitely breaks the ice, but wether it succeeds in creating  _love_ , I’m not sure I believe in that one”. Shea chuckled and queried, to which Sasha hummed her agreement.

“That’s the one. The guy who invented it, Arthur Aron is a-”.

“Psychologist”. Shea intervened, the look of shear surprise on Sasha’s face as she concluded her sentence for her, making her grin smugly. “Don’t act so shocked, I may spend my days singing, dancing and acting but I have a brain too”. Continued Shea, sarcasm lacing her words, a smile remaining present on her face.

Sasha sniffed, embarrassed. Mumbling a quick sorry, the blonde girl threw a handful of popcorn comedically into her mouth, avoiding making eye contact with Shea. Shrugging her shoulders, Shea picked up a stray piece of popcorn that had fallen into Sasha’s lap. Shea, using her pointer finger, acrylic nails painted a shade of amethyst, poked Sasha on the shoulder, sending a reassuring smile her way.

“I wasn’t offended at all, we’re cool”. Shea spoke with a sense of calmness and reservation, fishing out another joint from god knows where, and propositioning it to Sasha with a carefree smile. Opening her palm for Shea to place the joint in along with her violet lighter, Sasha smiled apologetically.  _Inhale. Hold. Exhale_. Sasha wired her brain not to overthink or assume.

“Anyway-”. Commenced the dark haired girl, handing Sasha’s phone back to her. The couch felt soft beneath her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “-I highly doubt we’re 'gonna fall in  _love_  with each other, but I guarantee we have  _at least_  half an hour before Trixie and Katya join us again, so I’m down if you are”.

Shea’s eyes locked with Sasha’s, her own idea not seeming as grand as it did moments prior. She shrugged, irregardless of the kaleidoscopes flickering in her view and lightness of her head, the way her palms had began sweating nervously and the unwitting twitch of her nose.

“Let’s do it, I’ll start?”.


	2. Chapter 2

Dust settled. The sun rose to its hazy pinnacle, birds chirping, perched on windowsills and balconies. Curtains were pulled open, untarnished beams of sun intruding through the glass windows of the room, illuminating the once dark abyss of fantasy and surrealism. Sounds of harps and ukuleles had disappeared from the speaker, a morning radio show having taken its place. The cheery voice of the anchors fled to ears, grounding them.

The room smelt like a dangerous mix of popcorn and smoke; neither a pleasant scent. Specs of ash were littered across surfaces, lifting and swirling in to light breezes that flew in through the ajar window.

Shea blinked away the sleep from her eyes, the space on the couch next to her dented and warm, yet void of any presence. She squinted her eyes, adjusting her barely awake orbs to the astonishing daylight. Raising her gaze, acknowledging Katya pottering around the minute kitchen area, she sat up straight. Stretching the tense muscles of her back and elongating her arms towards the ceiling, knuckles clicking and bones cracking satisfyingly, she stood.

Her feet were clothed in comfortable fluffy bed socks, which made the walk to join Katya bearable. Kind of. The frigid coldness of the hard wood made her shiver as she walked, environment having yet to heat up sufficiently, irregardless of the summer weather outside.

Trixie was sat on a bar stool near to Katya. Her hair was wet as she ran a brush through it, untangling any knots delicately. Smiling lightly up towards Shea as she approached, Trixie began braiding her hair loosely.

“Morning sunshine”. Sang Trixie, the high pitched noise making Shea shiver slightly. Lifting herself to perch on the counter top, Shea rubbed at her eyes, remnants of mascara nearing her cheekbones and glittery eyeshadow transferring on to her fingertips.

“M'morning”. She grumbled in response, garnering Katya’s attention. The dark blonde skipped over, her mood unreasonably -  _uncharacteristically_  - cheery for such an hour of the day. Eight in the morning, her watch told her. It was an hour that Shea hadn’t greeted in weeks. Stuck in a cyclonic routine of drifting off into a turbulent sleep at well past midnight, and rising more than halfway in to the average persons typical day. She shook her head. Maybe I’ll get to class today, instead of only turning up to rehearsals, she mused. It could happen.

“You look rough”. Trixie deadpanned, Shea smiling gratefully when Katya thrust a plate of toast in to her hands and mumbling a low _eat, bitch_. Scoffing, Shea pointed vaguely towards Trixie’s dishevelled morning appearance.

“Take a look in the mirror, Trix-”. Retorted Shea, focus travelling around the room. It seemed emptier, somehow, the small amount of clutter that had gathered doing little to compensate for the feeling. “-I feel fine, shockingly, I had a decent sleep”. She finished, biting in to the warm toast, melted butter glossing over her lips.

“See, that couch isn’t as bad as everybody says it is”. Gloated Katya, sipping from a glass of orange juice in one hand whilst smoking a freshly lit cigarette in the other, sun creating a halo around her head of dishevelled hair.

“Oh no, it’s definitely bad, my back feels like I’ve slept on a bed of nails for years-”. A line appeared between her eyebrows, frowning at the ache still apparent in her spine. “-plus we have dance rehearsals tonight, I feel like I might die”.  _Exaggeration_. Trixie giggled.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me about that, I didn’t get much sleep last night and-”. Trixie paused, words halted by Katya’s hand flailing against her shoulder. Shaking her head, albeit to herself, Shea set her plate down on the counter top next to her, body still asleep.

“I don’t want to know what the both of you got up to, thanks”. Shea’s voice dripped with sarcasm, eyebrows waggling knowingly. Katya groaned and Trixie cackled, leaving Shea none the wiser about the dynamic of their relationship. Always strange.

“You really don’t-”. Elaborated Katya, eyes darting between Shea and Trixie. “-never mind us, what did you and Sasha get up to last night? You were both out cold when I came in at like - midnight”. The corners of Shea’s mouth twitched, smile threatening to break out. She quelled it immediately.

 _Sasha_.

“We just talked”. Shea exhaled nonchalantly, tilting her head backwards, hand rising to rub at her neck soothingly. Katya sniggered, eyes rolling and short fingernails tapping irritatingly across the kitchen surface.

“Because talking normally leads to cuddling?”. Katya grinned, pride streaking across her face as she realised she had cracked Shea’s façade. The dark haired girl squeezed her eyes shut, before flickering them towards Trixie. Help, she pleaded silently, eyes hopeful. Shrugging her shoulders, Trixie mouthed a sincere sorry, dismounting the bar stool and making her way to the coat rack where she’d left her floral patterned pink jacket; an item of clothing that was Trixie embodied.

 _Sasha_.

“Where is she, anyway? Did she leave?”. Shea pondered, question directed towards Trixie. The blonde shrugged her shoulders, tossing Shea’s shoes to her. Shea smiled gratefully, Trixie’s organised instincts a welcome addition to her drowsy thoughts. She busied herself with twiddling her thumbs.

“She has class at nine, so she left early enough to go back to her place and get ready-”. Katya intervened, reaching in to the pocket of her pants and retrieving a folded up square of paper. “-she did leave you her number, though”. Winked Katya, a teasing grin becoming a permanent fixture on her features.

“Yeah, she did, that’s great-”. Dismissed Trixie, although not without a piercing look that told Shea it - Sasha - wasn’t a topic that would be that easily avoided. Ushering Shea to pull her shoes on in addition to her jacket, Trixie signalled to the clock on the wall opposite. “-but if we don’t leave soon then we’ll be late for class too”. Trixie threw her bag over her shoulder, giving herself a once over in the mirror.

Admittedly, she didn’t look great, wearing the same outfit that she’d arrived in the day previously, and with her hair in damp braids. Shea looked worse, granted, makeup dissolving and wavy hair dropping. Both were thankful that their own dorms were only a ten minute walk away.

“This morning is just music theory, right?”. Shea attempted to recall her schedule, weeks of having avoided all classes and commitments leaving a void in her mind, in her recollections. Slipping her feet out of her furry bed socks and in to her shoes, she felt the muscles in her lower back spasm and seize. Trixie gave a slow nod, observing the pain circulating throughout Shea’s being.

“Will you be alright for practice tonight?”. Trixie’s words were tentative, cautiously optimistic. The prominent frown on Shea’s face diminished, a convincing tight lipped smile taking its place.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve just slept awkwardly, don’t worry about it girl”. Shea discarded quickly, diverting Trixie’s attention away from the possibility of not being able to practice as efficiently as possible. Eyeing the other girl suspiciously, Trixie gave in, allowing Shea to finish preparing herself to leave whilst she walked elegantly back over to Katya’s side.

“Call me later?-”. Trixie breathed quietly, Shea just out of earshot, intending for only Katya to hear her low octave words. Katya smiled timidly, teeth tugging at the corner of her swollen bottom lip. “-please?”. She emphasised, arms slinking securely around Katya’s waist, pulling her in closer.

“I’ll call you-”. Hummed the shorter girl, flicking her eyes across Trixie’s shoulder in order to observe Shea, who had pulled on her jacket and thrown her hair in to a loose high bun. “-make sure you give this to Shea though, I know she’s already behind schedule with finding a costume, and Sasha’s amazing at what she does”. Katya slipped the folded up piece of paper delicately in to Trixie’s hand, the girls pink manicured fingers closing tightly around it.

“You’re the best”. Murmured Trixie, eyes sparkling. Placing a fleeting kiss to the corner of Katya’s parted lips, she pulled away from the embrace, Shea’s mocking faux gagging noises on the other side of the room leaving her to roll her eyes. Sauntering over towards the door, Trixie beckoned Shea who followed quickly, mouth gaping and eyes watering as she yawned.

“Bye ladies”. Katya called jokingly, waving both Shea and Trixie away from the arch of her doorway, the extravagant hallway in front of her gleaming with sunlight. Shea gave a halfhearted wave in return, already rounding the corner to the staircase, whereas Trixie blew a dainty kiss, her pupils dilating.

“Could you be anymore disgustingly into her?”. Shea teased, platform shoes clicking on the concrete steps as she descended them, high ceilings floating above and Trixie to her right in her salmon pink ballet pumps. A saturated blush flew to Trixie’s makeup free cheeks, flaming embarrassingly. The artificial blonde shook her head.

“I’d kill you right here, right now-”. Trixie held up an accusatory index finger, pointing at Shea with a flush of denial. Shea shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, leading Trixie to huff and groan in frustration. “-but we have a class to get ready for”. Trixie dropped her gaze to the floor, eyes travelling across the pathway that her feet met as she exited the dormitory building.

Shea grinned, shifting Trixie’s attitude aside in her mind. She felt light, weightless, carefree and unrestrained. It had begun to warm up outside, breeze atmospheric and the summer sun drying the dewy grass and making the trees glow, leaving flowers blooming and bumble bees navigating their ways gracefully around them.

Her jacket felt too heavy, though she knew if she removed it that her shirt underneath would be too thin, the woven navy fabric an undoubtably questionable choice. She felt tall in her platformed shoes, taller than Trixie and yet, the grandeur and elevation of the buildings, structures and skyscrapers alike around her had her feeling akin to nothing. Like a molecule of water being dropped into the ocean, a spec of dust in a derelict attic.

Shea mused herself with the similes that she conjured up in her mind, contentment running through her veins and bloodstream. Trixie’s face had softened next to her, eyes flickering as she prepared to start up a conversation that Shea knew Trixie had been planning since they left Katya’s dorm. Inevitably.

Eyes moving toward the clouds above, Shea acknowledged that for once, a rare occurrence, she didn’t have any qualms about listening to Trixie’s ramblings. Happiness,  _maybe_.

Talking about Sasha didn’t seem like it could be a bad thing.

*****

_Tamborine and acoustic guitar music played from the speaker in the background, the tinny sound permeating eardrums and relaxing subconsciouses. Air grew thicker and darker as flames roared and burnt out, leaving behind enlightenment. The plush couch felt like a boat, floating on a tepid Mediterranean Sea, waves not crashing or shaking, but flowing seamlessly. Relaxingly._

_Sasha traced her finger along the edge of her phone haphazardly, the bright screen irritating her sensitive eyes. She turned down the intensity. Shea swivelled to face her further, crossing her legs underneath her body and pulling a grey pillow from the floor in order to nestle it close to her chest. Sasha smiled, hesitation apparent on her face._

_“Ready?”. Questioned Shea, her gaze intense. Sasha responded only with a singular nod of her head.  
_  
_“Yeah - there’s three sets so-”. Sasha drawled, the blunt in the hand that wasn’t holding her phone and Shea’s intense glare already too much. “-question one, given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”. She finished, her words stuttering._

 _“Probably Naomi Campbell, her confidence amazes me, you?”. Answered Shea, without missing a beat. Sasha’s forehead creased, observing in confusion.  
_  
_“Maybe Judith Butler, or Van Gogh, he’s a huge inspiration for my art. Two, Would you like to be famous? In what way?”. She continued, irregardless of the psychedelic glimmers in her eyes that she couldn’t decipher; wether they were cause by the drug or the person. Shea._  
_  
“I think I would, I’d love to be on broadway at some point in my life”. Shea smiled shyly at the thought, a significant juxtaposition to her earlier demeanour. Her passion a weakness in her own eyes.  
_  
_“Same here, only for my art and not acting and singing. That’s something I’ll never be able to do. Next, Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”. Joked Sasha, before asking the next question_.

 _“Not really, I tend to just go with the flow. That goes for most things”. Vagueness. Sasha arched an eyebrow. Shea said nothing.  
_  
_“I definitely rehearse, phone calls are my nightmare. Four, What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?”. The Russian confessed, reading out the fourth question with bleary eyes._

_“Right now? I’d like to spend a day just in bed, being the laziest I can. Maybe order a pizza. How about you?”. Shea chuckled to herself. I need a day off, she mused._

_“Visiting art galleries and museums, it never gets old for me”. Sasha recalled the numerous days she’d spent trailing around New York visiting every gallery and museum in sight, spending hours fixated on unique artistic creations. Getting lost in centuries past and the many yet to come._

_“What’s the next one?”. Shea dragged her back to the present. Shaking her head to herself, Sasha handed the joint over to the other girl. Too much. Shea grinned, though she thought the same._

_“When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”. Sasha squeaked out.  
_  
_“Myself, this morning. Somebody else? A few hours ago; theatre”. An obvious answer from a musical theatre student. Sasha chuckled.  
_  
_“I don’t really sing, like ever. The next one is, If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”. Admiring the thought out question, Sasha mulled over her opinion whilst Shea projected her thoughts._

_“Body, call me shallow, call me uneducated, but I like my body. You’d probably say mind, right?”. Confidence; again. Sasha was still attempting to work out wether she admired it or envied it. Both, she acknowledged. Both. Possibly._

_“Yeah-”. The blonde wasn’t shocked that Shea had guessed correctly. Neither was Shea. “-seven is, Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”. Shea shivered as she contemplated. Sasha didn’t blink, The thought having crossed the roads in her mind repeatedly._

_“Peacefully, I think. In my sleep. Nothing exciting, nothing noteworthy”._

_“I feel the same”. Both wished they could say differently. Wished that they could die under the remembrance of millions. Notable, even if the idea itself was more disturbing than they cared to admit._  
  
*****

Trixie’s smirk refused to leave her face as she turned towards Shea, barely a minute in to their walk to the block where both of their dormitories were located. It spoke volumes, volumes that Shea longed to turn down, to mute. Shea’s back ached with every step she took, with shoulders clicking and neck tensing, she began loathing Katya’s couch. Trixie seemed unbothered, drifting along in the breeze of the morning. Shea wished she could say that she felt the same, but she never liked lying.

“So, start talking”. Prompted Trixie, eyes locking with Shea’s and gleaming as if she knew. As if she knew every individual thought circulating and reverberating around Shea’s chaotic mind, like they were visible on her skin. Tattooed in midnight black ink across her hands and her face. Printed across her clothing in luminescent, vibrant colours.

“What do you expect me to say?”. Sighed Shea, pupils wide. Tossing her braids over her shoulders, Trixie focused all of her attention on the other girl. Her face switched from teasing to serious within milliseconds, priorities shifted and approach softened. Reaching out, Trixie placed a tentative, comforting hand on Shea’s forearm.

“Look, I know you’ve had a tough time lately, I get it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel able to it’s just-”. The light blonde girl halted, words getting lost in the air, stuck in her throat and refusing to leave her voice box. Shea blinked, eyes threatening to well up. “-I feel like Katya had a point when she said just talking doesn’t normally lead to cuddling. I wouldn’t blame you if you  _did_  do anything with her I-”.

Shea groaned, pulling her jacket closer to her body. Armour. Protection, irregardless of the beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead due to the humidity. The shorter girls eyebrows furrowed, confusion evident upon her face.

“We didn’t do anything, I swear. I’m not lying when I say we just talked about stuff-”. Shea sniffed, tears brimming around her deep chestnut, lilac glitter lidded eyes. “God, it was so stupid and-”. Shea hiccuped. Trixie’s face blazed with sympathy and empathy as she linked her arm with Shea’s, pulling the girl closer as they walked. Shea averted her gaze, keeping it trained on the ground.

“Please talk to me, you idiot. I don’t want my best friend feeling like shit all of the time, it’s not healthy, at all”. Soothed Trixie, voice light and words calm. Shea’s eyelids drooped, though Trixie’s words blasted a wave of refreshment over her subconscious. She smiled knowingly, gratefully, nodding in agreement.

“I know I haven’t been myself lately, and I so appreciate you being there for me. I’m working on it, I really am. Last night kind of just - fucked me up”. Reasoned Shea, beams of light blinding her sight and cobbled pathway beneath her feet pressing into the platforms of her shoes. Trixie simpered, humming her acknowledgment.

“In what way?”. Trixie trod gently, hesitantly questioning the dark haired girl.

 _Uncertainty_.

“It started as a joke, a way to get to know each other, seeing as you and Katya abandoned us-”. Shea laughed, the sound bitter. Trixie mumbled a meaningful _I’m sorry_ , though Shea shrugged. She was unbothered. “-we did the  _36 questions thing_ , and oh my god - Trix I told her stuff I’ve never told you, never told anybody, and - she listened, she listened to every word I had to say and had the most thought through, perfect response to everything. Yes, I was off my face, I was off my entire god damn  _existence_ , but I felt safe. I felt so safe”.

*****

 _“Eight?”. Shea prompted, steering the conversation away from the previously solemn question answered.  
_  
_“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common”. Sasha read aloud, pitch of her voice unstable and brow slightly dented. Shea snorted, the question amusing her.  
_  
_“Physically, were polar opposites so - artistic ways? Maybe? Friends, I guess you could say, and, I don’t know-”. Shea’s mind ran blank, with her limited knowledge of Sasha, she didn’t know. She did not know._

 _“I can’t think of anything else. I guess you could say denim shorts? But that would be pushing the question to its limit”. Sasha joked, sarcasm attached to her words, weaved in between sentences. Shea hummed in agreement, the question almost boring her.  
_  
_“Let’s move on to nine”. Dismissed Shea, smoke trailing from her lips, clouds forming the in the thick air around them. Sasha scrutinised her phone closely, lack of contact lenses or glasses in addition to the haziness of her being making her vision more blurred than she would have liked._

 _“For what in your life do you feel most grateful? Friends and I guess family for me, definitely, without a doubt”. Sasha answered immediately after she had closed the question, memories of a peaceful, happy childhood diffusing around her.  
_  
_“I’d have to agree, though also opportunities”. Added Shea, unable to fault Sasha’s foregone answer. Unarguable, she noted._

 _“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”. The blondes tone lowered towards the end of her sentence, a question of how to answer and what to answer with flowing freely around her conscience.  
_  
_“These are getting intense-”. Shea paused to chuckle, though her own answer was prepared; balancing on the tip of her tongue. “-I think I would’ve liked to have grown up here, and not in Chicago”. She concluded, fingers running seamlessly through the front strands of her hair._

_“You grew up in Chicago?”. Squeaked Sasha, surprise clear and evident in both her startled facial expression and tone of voice._

_“Mhm”. Shea inhaled what she told herself would be the last from the joint. No more, she convinced her lungs that wanted - needed - to inhale more of the toxic paradise. She passed the joint over to Sasha, their fingers brushing. Sasha’s calloused from the years of painting and Shea’s smooth. Contrasting.  
_  
_“That’s crazy, I did too-”. Confessed the blue eyed girl, accepting the joint with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. Preparation. Honesty. “-I probably would’ve wanted a better relationship with my father. We don’t speak, at all. Moving on, Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible”. Sasha glossed over her own response, aware that this thing, whatever they had chosen to do, involved honesty, yet unable to demolish and bury the wall she had constructed around herself._

_“My god, ok, do you have a timer on your phone?”. Shea queried, four minutes seemingly an eternity in that moment. Forever. Too long. Too much to say._

_“Four minutes are set, go for it”. Sasha breathed, settling her side against the back of the couch relaxedly. Eyes almost slipping closed, Shea’s velvety voice filling her ears, she kept breathing in. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Shea started._

_“I was born on February the 8th, making me an Aquarius, to honestly the best parents I could have asked for. My moms worked in theatre all of her life, so I guess that’s where I get that from-”. Shea spoke slowly and laughed jokingly, eyes flickering to the phone in Sasha’s hand; four minutes remaining. Sasha’s eyes were closed, though she let out vague noises of understanding when she felt they were appropriate. Don’t interfere, she told herself. Keep to yourself._

_“-My dad is a business man, way too serious for me, and I have two younger siblings - one brother one sister. They’re amazing, both are still in high school. Oh!, school - pretty basic, elementary school was a bit strange, being the only black girl in your class can be a learning curve, but from there middle school and high school were great-”. Rambling. Slowly, Shea gathered pace, facts about herself, her life, and her childhood reeling out and in to the world, in to Sasha’s head. The blonde had loosened the grip on her phone, moving it to rest on the couch in front of her, between herself and Shea; one minute remaining. She proceeded._

_“-I moved here at eighteen because I got a scholarship for the college in musical theatre, and I think it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. In terms of myself? I live for the colour purple, the actual colour, not the book. I-”. Chuckling to her own unintentional pun, Shea enthralled herself in the way Sasha’s cheeks puckered as she grinned, seemingly faultless teeth gleaming back at her, dimples arisen. The phone vibrated. End._

_“Times up”. Sasha sighed, eyes flickering open, the dimness of the candlelit room seeming too bright for her orbs. She wanted to close them again. To close them and have Shea’s melodic voice permeate her ear drums and infiltrate her thoughts. Sasha wanted to hear her sing. She’d sound good, she knew that._

_“That went a lot quicker than I thought it would. You go next”. Shea brushed off, embarrassment tugging at her furrowing forehead. Sasha listened. She liked that. The girl opposite her nodded, resetting the timer on her phone. Four minutes._

_“Right - seeing as you started with start sign, I’m a Cancer, my birthday is June 25th. I was actually born in Russia, yes I’m Russian, in this tiny village just outside of St Petersburg-”. Sasha halted, Shea’s mouth agape. Russian, Shea mused to herself. Russian. The slight twang that lingered in Sasha’s accent unnoticeable until brought to attention. Shea enjoyed how it sounded like a blanket of warmth. The phone read two and half minutes remaining. Shea wanted more time to listen, to wrap herself up in Sasha uninhibited speech. She hugged the cushion closer to her chest._

_“-I moved to Chicago when I was 8 with my mom and my father, but they got divorced a couple years later. My mom passed away when I was 17 and I don’t speak to my father because he doesn’t really approve? Of me?, But that’s for another day I guess-”. Sasha’s eyes saddened, glimmer disappearing and replacing itself with something that Shea couldn’t pin point. Something akin to disappointment; regret. She persevered promptly, ignoring Shea’s hand that outstretched and came to rest on her knee, thumb brushing comfortingly across the expanse of her paint splattered skin. Thirty seconds._

_“-I was always artistic, but my mom really pushed me in to academics. It wasn’t until I started thinking about colleges that I really started taking art seriously. I moved here at eighteen, too, and from there I’ve just kind of-”. The buzz of the vibration ended Sasha’s sentence, Shea’s hand leaving with the sacredness of the four shared minutes._

_“Time”. Called the dark haired girl, face reading intrigue. Interest._

_“That does go quicker than you expect it to. Next one is, If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”. Sasha sprinted over to the next question, eager to hear Shea’s answer, to hear her voice. To know more about her._

_“I’d love to be able to fly. I can’t drive so it would be a great help”. Shea’s lighthearted tone returned, Sasha’s grin joining. Shea allowed the corners of her mouth to upturn, too, teeth biting at her plump bottom lip. Shea liked it when Sasha smiled. She wanted to make her smile more._

_“It’s a bit juvenile but I’d like to be able to dance”. Confessed Sasha, blush rising to her fair cheeks, eyes meeting Shea’s sporadically before flickering away to stare at the glowing embers between her fingertips. Sasha was glad not to be sober._

_“Anybody can dance. End of set one?”. Shea spoke with a confidence that was undeniable, the same confidence that she had owned when they had began the set of questions. Sasha admitted to herself that she liked that, too._

_“End of set one”._  
  
*****

“So basically, me and Katya getting the both of you to meet so that Sasha could help you with your costume, ended in-”. Trixie halted, Shea’s rapid shake of her head cutting off her words.

“I have no idea. Something”. Sighed Shea, clinging on to Trixie’s arm that remained linked with hers supportively. Trixie understood Shea’s apprehension, how she seemed certain and yet unsure. Positive but tentative. Trixie pondered the question nagging at her tongue. She paused before continuing.

“-how did you end up-”. Trixie’s words drifted off, although Shea knew what she was insinuating. How did you end up so close and how did you fall asleep together. How did you end up in the warmth of each other’s arms even in the summer heart.

How did it all happen, unfold, becoming  _something_  under the influence of the burning wand of intoxication before it could even begin to exist as  _anything_.

*****

_“I’ll do the last set if you want?”. Sasha almost whispered her words, feeling if she spoke at her usual volume she would break the serene atmosphere around them._

_Shea blinked slowly, nodding her head as Sasha’s words resonated. Passing over the phone so that it sat once again in Sasha’s grasp, Shea allowed their hands to brush for longer than she had previous. Their eyes remained locked, the rough tips of Sasha’s painted ladened fingers a contrast to Shea’s manicured ones._

_“Yeah, that’ll be great”. Gulped Shea, Sasha so close to her than she swore she could feel every breath Sasha took hitting her face. Smoke would occasionally blow into her eyes, burning, causing them to puff and become bleary, watering._

_“I don’t think I’m too keen on these type of questions either, Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling…’”. Sasha trailed off, balancing the joint precariously between her lips, ash falling on to her legs every so often as she moved, burning just a little; noticeably._

_“Could they not have been more inventive with these?”. Shea scoffed, tone cracking and eyes rolling.  
_  
_“You’re telling me”. Quipped Sasha, remaining silent and waiting for Shea to begin. She had a quizzical aura surrounding her, thoughts of why and I don’t know and how._

_“We’re both high. Is that too obvious?”. Shea’s mind ran a blank, her thoughts empty with the exemption of right now. Of Sasha. The way she smelt like a combination of musky perfume, smoke, and a faint aroma of chemically paint, and the way her crystalline dagger eyes seemed incapable of dishonesty and deception._

_“No, it’s true. We’re both doing this 'experiment’ right now”. Sasha laughed, the response seemingly too obvious and too predictable; much like Shea’s, she observed. Candles flickered across the room as a gale breezed inward._

_“We’re both female?”. Labels, they both recoiled. Labels brought a sense of confinement and restriction, conformity and the typical normality. Sasha nodded, though shook her head seconds later._

_“Gender is a construct-”. She laughed at herself, Shea seeming taken aback. “-we both attend the same college”. Sasha thought she had finally discovered a legitimate answer, reading over the following questions quietly in her head whilst she waited for Shea to answer, the girls eyes crossing in concentration as she furrowed her sculpted eyebrows. Sasha found herself admiring the artistry. Eyebrows could be artistry._

_“We both - girl help me out, I can’t think of any”. She whined eventually, eyes pleading with Sasha’s.  
_  
_“We both have really great eyebrows”. Sasha’s thoughts became words, projections. Shea’s grin widening and slightly crooked yet pearly white reflective teeth pressing against her lips.  
_  
_“You’re not wrong there. We both have the same bracelet”. Shea’s gaze focused on Sasha’s hand that had reached out to hand over the joint to her, barely less than half of it remaining.  
_  
_A delicate pastel rainbow; peach, lavender, mint, candy floss, aqua, sky. Colours interweaved forming a braid of pride and support. Sasha’s eyes gleamed as they watched Shea lift her own wrist, the large circle barely hanging on to her thin, agile bones._

 _“I didn’t even notice that”. Mumbled the blonde girl, rainbow illuminating the dark clouds. Unexpected and yet, welcomed. She reached out to touch, the identical bracelet adorning Shea’s wrist more worn, more weathered than her own, signs of living.  
_  
_“I only just noticed myself”. Shea moved her arm nearer to Sasha, resting it eventually on her knee, Sasha’s warm touch a simultaneously strange and pleasant sensation.  
_  
_“Twenty six is - ten left - Complete this sentence: 'I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’”. Sasha advanced, leaving go of the bracelet on Shea’s wrist. Shea neglected to move her hand, instead throwing the cushion that she was holding to the side and shuffling closer to the smiling girl, shoulders pressing against each others._

_“I wish I had someone with whom I could share, my love of theme parks. Nobody ever wants to go with me, people are always scared of rollercoasters and everything else fun in life”. Shea kept her answer lighthearted, fun, airy and teasing. Everything else fun in life. Sasha agreed. She’d go to a theme park with Shea, have fun with her. Sasha hummed in agreement, flecks of light casting the shadows of her eyelashes across her high cheekbones._

_“I wish I had someone with whom I could share my studio with. It gets really tiresome when you’re there all day everyday with only your paints for company-”. Sasha drew on her memories from the morning prior. Company would have been appreciated, greatly, during her landscape painting process. “-Next, If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know”._

_“I’m a really annoying drunk”. Shea blurted, overly self aware and familiar with her drunken, inebriated misadventures. Sasha laughed, pictures of an even more intoxicated Shea flashing through her mind at lightening speed. Like a storm hitting waves in the ocean._

_“I don’t drink, I can’t relate with you on that one. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met”. Both were unprepared. Honesty was a virtue of morality they believed in wholeheartedly, but exercising it was undeniably different. Almost like the act of swimming compared to telling somebody how to swim. Riding a bike versus watching somebody else ride a bike._

Shea inhaled.

_“I like how you seem unashamed of being completely authentically you. I like how you knew you’d be meeting somebody new that might by judgemental yet you turned up covered in paint anyway. I like that you’re serious without being afraid of letting yourself be funny sometimes. I really like your eyes too, they’re pretty. They’re blue without being blue, y'know? Almost grey”._

Sasha exhaled.

_“They get lighter in the summer, it’s weird. I like how upfront you are. You don’t come across as if you’d ever be worried of rejection or being let down by people. I like that you’re family orientated, shows you have a good heart. I also really like your shirt and I’m 'gonna need to know where you got it from”._

_“Thrift store”._  
  
Both smiled.

*****

Trixie blinked.

Shea said nothing.

Understanding.

Continuation.

*****

 _“Final question. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen”. Shea extinguished the burnt out joint in the empty candle holder that they had been using for the entirety of the night. Specks of ash floating to the heavens as the embers dimmed, Sasha’s light smile that remained present on her face glowing enough to replace it.  
_  
_“How personal are we talking?”. Shea slouched further, head mere inches away from Sasha’s.  
_  
_“As personal as you 'wanna get”. Both of their breaths smelt like stale smoke. Unpleasant but unnoticeable in their close proximity, sharing the same air and embracing the same moment.  
_  
_Shea knew what she’d share. If she was doing this properly, if she was doing this right, then she knew immediately. She’d discussed it with Trixie, once, the pink loving girl telling her do it. They love you. They’re supportive. Do it._

Shea had dismissed her, unconvinced.

_“Ok, so - you know I’m close with my family, but I don’t tell them everything, not by a long shot. I’ve been thinking of telling them, of coming out to them for years, but I’ve never had the nerve to do it. I sat them down a few months ago and tried telling them but I backed out and-”._

_Shea’s breathing was deep, heavy, getting caught in her throat as streams of tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes. Sasha panicked, consoling far from being her forte. She leant over regardless, tentative arms pulling Shea in softly. Gently. Wrapping her in warmth and comfort._

_Her arms were strong, but the way they encased Shea’s seemingly fragile shaking being was far from it. Sweetly, sensitively._

_“Shh, calm down, it’s ok, I get it. If your family are as loving and caring, and as devoted to you, their daughter, as they seem, then you have nothing to worry about. They’ll get it, Shea. People get it. They’ll get it”. Words came relatively easy to the blonde girl, recollections of what she’d wished for somebody to tell her years back when she’d been too far stuck in her own head, situation unreadable.  
_  
_“I know you’re right about that, friends have been telling me the same forever. It’s just one of those things. What about you, hm?”. Shea dismissed Sasha, too, albeit no where near as quickly as she did with Trixie. It was progress, maybe._

_“Mines nowhere near as serious as yours, but I’ve been thinking for a while about getting a nose job. It’s something I’ve never like about myself, an now that I have enough savings to do it, I’m tempted”._

_Sasha’s attempt to flip the tone of the conversation, the vibe, proved futile when Shea’s response was everything she didn’t know that she needed in that instance. It was reassurance and complimentary words, combined with an attitude that told her not to care or consider what anybody thought about her physical appearance, or her personality; essentially. Shea smiled unabashedly, touching her finger to Sasha’s button nose._

_“Your nose is pretty. It’s you, I like it. But again, you really have to do what makes you happy in your life. If a new nose would do that, then by all means, do it for you. But don’t do it for anybody whose ever commented badly on it. Do it for you. Plus, contouring works like a dream. Try that before any serious commitments”._

Sasha cackled loudly. Humour. She liked it.  _She liked it all._

*****

Trixie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out the folded up piece of paper that Katya had given to her - from Sasha. Handing it to Shea instantly, she smiled encouragingly, reassurance spread across her face. They were nearing their dormitories, approaching the high rise block. Shea had removed her jacket, her overly thin shirt underneath doing little to keep her covered from the light breeze blowing mystically and yet; she felt warm.

“Text her. Call her. I don’t care how you do it, but talk to that girl”.

*****

 **I think we’ll work amazingly together - text me whenever you’re free darling  
**  
**Sasha ♡** **  
**  
*****

 **Shea: it’s Shea, I got your note. About that coffee you suggested last night, how does tomorrow sound? xx  
**  
**Sasha: tomorrows great, come to my studio? We can work on your costume the same time xx**

**Shea: send me the address and I’ll be there xx**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡


	3. Chapter 3

The following day was scorching. In comparison to the summer days that had gone before, the glowing sphere of fire in the sky seemed brighter, more intense, and the air appeared thicker; humid. Tarmac along sidewalks had began melting, getting stuck aggravatingly in the grooves of walkers shoes as they commuted from one place to another, trees unmoving with the lack of breeze circulating the spaces between buildings. The continuous bustle of the city that never sleeps proceeded relentlessly, overheated citizens and tourists clad in next to nothing and yet, still complaining of their inabilities to escape the heat.

Shea stood still. She didn’t mind the weather, irregardless of the sweat that dripped down her makeup free face, and loose strands of hair that fell free from an overly loose bun sticking to her glistening forehead and flushed cheeks. Her black stretchy cotton shorts felt too tight, and her cream tank top too loose as she spent her afternoon in the air conditioned confines of one of the colleges dance studios. Preparations for her final performance of the semester had taken over her days; completely. Twirling slow adagios to whirling lightening allegros, blocking sets and arranging countless props by herself all day, had left Shea nothing short of exhausted.

The room was bright. Brighter than it was outdoors,  _somehow_ , with the white walls and mirrors refracting beams of sunlight around the room sporadically, light wooden floor at Shea’s feet being made barely visible. 

She sighed, tossing her script to the corner of the room, where her jacket sat neatly across a folding chair. Every word was engrained in her mind. Syllables, sentences, pauses and emphasises all ran on a repetitive loop through her focused state of mind, even as she forced herself to quell the impending worries of non ironically forgetting months worth of work. She knew she wouldn’t, positively, though the nagging persistence of that singular voice in the back of her head told her otherwise.

Glaring at the script in exasperation for longer than she admittedly should have been staring at an inanimate object for, she slouched over to the barre, the mirror in front of her covering the whole wall, unrelenting. Shea knew she didn’t look great. Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck and in between her cleavage, much like they did her forehead, causing her tank top to become both damp and see through. Musing to herself that perhaps having the effort to put a bra on before she left her dormitory the morning prior may have been a good idea,  _possibly_ , she gripped on to the barre. 

Cold, icy metal beneath the grip of her clammy palms startled her, initially, the definitive contrast in temperature causing her to recoil. Clutching it again, she relaxed, shoulders falling and legs elongating along with her arms, muscles becoming less tense and joints clicking satisfyingly. She kept eye contact with herself in the grand mirror, watching as the veins in her neck became more prominent when she tilted her head from left to right, front to back, reminding her of the extremities she’d put her overworked body through throughout the entirety of the day.

It must have been eight hours. At  _least_  eight hours, she acknowledged, the small clock on the wall telling her it had reached six o'clock in the evening. She’d arrived at the empty studio at around ten in the morning, with one the theatre assistants telling her it would be vacant all day. Shea jumped at the opportunity, rarely coming across the unexpected opportunity to have an entire studio to herself in order to practice on a weekend. A Saturday, of all days of the week. 

Her phone had remained perched on top of her jacket that sat on the folding chair for most of the day, only dragging herself over on tired legs to check on it when the small electronic device vibrated with a notification. On a number of occasions, it was Trixie. The first time, she’d asked Shea if she was free for the day, only for Shea to respond with a miserable  _no, definitely not_ , and another time was to remind Shea that she was suppose to be at Sasha’s art studio at six thirty. 

Shea blinked.  _Six thirty, Sasha’s studio_. The clock on the wall continued ticking inconsiderately, unforgivingly, hitting ten minutes past six before Shea could allow herself time to breath, time to do anything. 

Around the room, props were scattered haphazardly in all directions. A broken umbrella, a regally engraved sword, a single artificial plastic rose and a misplaced candelabra. They outlined the premise of Shea’s monologue without explaining a single factor. Leaving it a mystery,  _almost_. Sheet music was littered around the piano in one corner of the room, Shea’s bag overflowing with various miscellaneous objects on the floor next to it. 

She’d have to collect all of her belongings and organise the props in to the cupboard down the hall before even attempting to make her way to Sasha’s - that she knew for certain. She knew she’d be late, too, exceptionally so. The thought was displeasing. Very rarely was Shea ever not punctual, and even rarer was she late to a pre organised gathering; regardless wether it was with one person or fifteen.

Gripping her phone that she had just picked up tightly in her hand, Shea felt the familiar rhythmic vibrations of an incoming phone call.  _Sasha_. Her name lit up the screen fondly, the image that Shea had set as her caller ID causing the corners of her mouth to curl up in to a small, humble smile. 

In the captured moment, Sasha’s head was resting awkwardly on Shea’s shoulder, her beanie slipping off of her hair and a blissful, intoxicated smile plastered across her face. It was taken in a blur, mid laughter, on Katya’s uncomfortable vintage couch in the low light of candles and ignited blunts, where both girls felt comfortable.

Shea’s thumb hovered over the screen, the back of her other hand rising to wipe the droplets of irritating sweat from her brow. Inhaling deeply, she accepted the call, ignoring the option to press loud speaker as she knew the volume of her phone would echo Sasha’s deep, drawled out voice throughout the room that was notorious for acoustics.

Lifting the phone to her ear, ignoring how her small rosé earrings clacked against the screen inconveniently, she acknowledged just how out of breath she was. She inhaled deeply again, allowing as much oxygen in to her tight, drained lungs as possible, noting not to practice without a break for upwards of eight hours anytime in the foreseeable future.

“Hey!”. Shea exhaled as she spoke, voice cracking and reverberating down the phone line towards Sasha. She could almost hear the other girl grin, lips parting and gleaming teeth protruding perfectly as her tongue poked between them unwittingly - and then she heard it. The musical chuckle met her ears instantly, followed by seemingly mute chatter in the background.

“Hey yourself!-”. Beamed Sasha, excitement evident in her words. Shea laughed airily in response. “-you sound out of breathe, are you alright there?”. Sasha concluded, questioning Shea, tone remaining light and teasing as she giggled lowly. Shea huffed, beginning to pace around the large room anxiously as her fingers ran through the damp tendrils of hair framing her face.

“Sorry, I’m in the studio, I’ve been practicing all day”. Admitted Shea, leaning her back against the nearest, cold brick wall. She allowed her heart rate to decline, oxygen levels returning to something resembling normal. Humming, Sasha nodded along to Shea’s words, momentarily oblivious to the fact that Shea couldn’t see her through the phone line, was unable to see the fond expression that had settled upon her face. She sighed to herself.

“Take a break, darling”. Sasha settled on eventually, realising how disheartened and exhausted she got with her own craft after hours on end of working. Shea’s eyebrows furrowed, sunlight blasting through the large window in the room and directly in to her eyes, leaving kaleidoscopes and rainbows in her line of vision every time she moved her gaze from one place to another.

“I will, I just need to wrap up here and then I’m done until next week - for the most part”. Shea corrected herself mid sentence, fully self aware that she wouldn’t be able to take more than a days break. She  _had_  to work,  _had_  to improve. Sasha hummed her agreement for the second time, hearing Shea’s deep, breathless inhalations and exhalations still travelling through the speaker of the phone, allowing the blonde girl to rush directly to the reasoning behind the phone call - rather than a text message. 

“So, I’m at that little coffee shop by the theatre, you know the one?”. Sasha queried, eyes flickering upwards to meet the sign of the coffee shop, characteristically deteriorated wooden sign in the shape of a steaming mug drawing her in. Customers hurried in to the establishment, as they did the same exiting, bypassing the individuals situated inside and around the red leather booths.

“Yeah, I know the one. The studios are around the corner from it”. Recalled Shea, strolling across the floor of the studio in her worn ballet slippers and to the window, spotting the coffee shop -  _Peppermints_  - that she knew Sasha was describing. It was quaint, familial. Adorable, certainly.

“Yeah, that’s the one!-”. Grinned Sasha, cheeks rising in glee. “-I was just wondering if you wanted anything from here? I’m ‘gonna get a coffee and then head over to my studio”. She announced, shuffling from one foot to the other as she leant her hip against a graffitied lamppost outside of the coffee shop.

Gulping, Shea halted. Turning her body away from the window, her eyesight focussed firstly on the chaos that had erupted around the studio, and secondly on the miniature clock upon the white washed wall.  _Fifteen minutes past six._  Time was not on her side. It was opposite, anything but. It was admittedly; her enemy. Her singular rival unable to be defeated within the coming minutes in order to make it to Sasha’s studio by six thirty. 

Groaning audibly, she threw her lethargic body on to the folding chair at her side, sighing furthermore as she got the previously elusive opportunity to relax her legs and spine that had been deprived of a break for longer than her mind.

“Girl, I-”. Shea began, though paused promptly in order to rub her bleary, almost teary eyes. Yawning, Shea felt Sasha’s empathy pore spiritually into her subconscious. “-I’m running so late right now. I don’t think I’ll make it to yours by six thirty. Hell, I don’t think I’ll make it to yours by  _seven_  thirty at this rate and-”. Shea paused again, willing her thoughts to drift away from herself as she heard Sasha begin to speak.

“Shea, breathe-”. Soothed Sasha, voice exiting her lips calmer than it did on most occasions, despite said most occasions being the epitome of calm and serene. “-stay in your studio. I’ll get coffee, and then come up, alright? I have a sketch book and some supplies with me right now, it’ll work out just fine”. Sasha’s words continued to put Shea at ease, continued to help her smile grow from a seed to a magically, extraordinarily bloomed sunflower.

Shea sniffed, eyes gawking at Sasha’s offer. Reaching her free hand up to rub tender circular motions in to her cramping neck, her eyes fluttered closed in contentment. She pondered the other girls suggestion thoroughly, the sound of Sasha clearing her throat drawing her out of her self inflicted trance after countless, innumerable seconds.

“I don’t want to make you have to go out of your way or-”. Shea scuffed the toe of her ballet slipped across the rickety, wooden floor boards at her feet, eyes drooping and forehead creasing. Sasha shook her head to herself, through made a point of vocalising her certainty to the dark haired girl with a soft sigh as she stepped away from the graffitied lamppost that had previously been supporting her body weight.

“Listen, with all the respect I can offer, you sound awful right now-”. Both girls chuckled at Sasha’s truth laced words.

 _Honesty_. 

“-the last thing you should be doing is walking all the way to my studio. It’s so much easier for me to get to the dance department than it would be for you to get to the art one”. Finalised Sasha, stepping in to the coffee shop that she was still stood in front of, a smiling man dressed in a questionable tweed suit holding the door open graciously for her. She offered him a quick smile, before focusing the majority of her attention back on hers and Shea’s phone conversation.

“Thank you”. Whispered Shea, exhaustion and surprised gratitude overwhelming her drained being. Thank you. Sasha gathered what she meant, essentially.

Shea was thanking her for her words and her proposition, her kindness and her charitable nature. She was thanking her for not being forceful, for allowing Shea an option. An opinion. Shea assumed that Sasha understood, thoroughly. Understood what it meant to fully submerse yourself in a world of creativity and surrealism, only to be dragged out harshly by a hurricane of dismissal and reality, and for the cycle to repeat itself endlessly.  _Relentlessly_.

Sasha smiled softly, hand reaching in to her pants pocket and retrieving a haphazardly crumpled up bill.

“What’s your coffee order and number of the studio?”.

*****

Shea perched, standing in the same position she had been minutes previously in front of the wall length mirror. Her cooling, drying hands gripped the metal barre tightly and with intensity, manicured fingernails digging in to her palm and leaving red crescent moon indentations.

Her face still appeared flushed and sweaty, despite her attempts to manically fan herself with both her discarded script and her hands. Scrutinising her own reflection further, Shea tugged down her hair from the worse for wear bun, dark waves cascading effortlessly down past her shoulders in waterfalls of lusciousness. Better, Shea noted, paying little attention to the baby hairs sticking numbly to the perimeters of her glowing face and the slight frizz that had developed on the underside of her head.

She swept her hair over her shoulders, feeling the strands tickle her nude back where her tank top had ridden upwards, bunching around her waist. Giving herself a vague once over in the mirror, she began stretching. Arm extensions and fingertips glided elegantly through the air, posture and outstretched leg a perfect line perpendicular to the barre.

Her eyes burned under the luminosity of the room, the sunlight outside becoming stronger in the hours before it would set; daytime dwindling. With her lashes fluttering closed, and a mere fingertip connected to the barre, keeping her both balanced and grounded, she let out a ragged breath. Her earlier exhaustion was prevalent, overwhelmingly so, as she began yawning mid way through her meditative post-practice routine.

Manoeuvring her limbs so that she stood up straight once again, back resting uncomfortably on the stable barre, she tilted her head backwards, sighing in relaxation when it came in contact with the mirror, a support for her tired and aching neck.

“Black coffee with a shot of espresso and sweetener - over ice?”. Shea’s eyes flashed open, her body jumping away from the barre and mirror, heart pounding in her throat. She blinked slowly, vision blurry, the sound of the Perspex door to the studio clicking closed meeting her ears.

Sasha stood across the room with simultaneous confidence and nervousness, two coffees balanced precariously in a cup holder in one hand and a brown paper bag that was labelled Peppermints in the other. Her bleached blonde hair laid in soft waves, combed and sleek whilst being noticeably fluffy against the dark, wine red cotton of her loose shirt. Black cutoff distressed shorts, and equally as intentionally worn sneakers and backpack accompanied the tentative smile that she had painted across her uncertain face.

Shea’s eyes sparkled, teeth nibbling at her plump bottom lip as she crossed the room to Sasha on slow strides, bottoms of her ballet slippers skidding along the wooden floorboards. They stood close, yet far enough away from each other that Shea couldn’t quite make out the distinctive faint freckles that she knew adorned Sasha’s pale skin across her nose and cheekbones, or the flecks of cerulean blue that she recalled ran throughout her grey irises.

Sasha’s eyes flickered under her thick eyelashes, taking in Shea’s appearance. She looked good. Granted, Sasha immediately acknowledged the lacklustre, exhausted aura that surrounded her, yet she looked good. She looked to be in her element, her art; her expression. With her hair wilder than she probably would have liked it to look on a regular basis, and her tank top that Sasha couldn’t help but observe was noticeably see through, Shea looked like the definition, the epitome of theatre. She admired her dedication.

Accepting the coffee graciously from Sasha, her warm hands wrapping gratefully around the cool condensation covered plastic cup, Shea ushered Sasha further in to the room. The blondes eyes widened at the sight of the extravagant, grand studio, unfamiliar with this side of the college.

“This is insane-”. Mumbled Sasha, high, lightbulb littered ceiling towering above her. Stalking over to the window, Shea trailing behind her, she registered just how elevated they were, people looking less like ants and more akin to microscopic cells. “-I never even knew that the college had studios like this, let alone this many floors up”. She chuckled to herself, Shea standing at her side in amusement, frolicking in Sasha’s awestruck state.

“I like it up here. I prefer it to the ground floor studios, they’re always so busy”. Addressed Shea, lips wrapping around the straw poking out of her coffee cup, the refreshingly sweet yet earthy beverage entering her mouth, before she felt it enter her system like a stream connecting to a river. A river flowing, cascading in to the ocean.

“It seems very you”. Sasha drew her attention away from the window and to the dark haired, hazel eyed girl stood elegantly next to her. Shea smiled, albeit apprehensively, before lifting herself by her forearms on to the windowsill ledge that doubled as a spaciously accommodating seat.

Signalling for Sasha to join her, she felt the smallest gust of air travel through the open window and across her warm skin, goosebumps rising instantaneously. Sasha discarded her backpack on the floor beneath her before she placed her own iced caffeinated drink and the paper bag on the ledge next to Shea, beams of light hitting her hair and casting a warm yellow glow across her cheekbones. Shea offered a reassuring smile in return.

Sasha propped herself up with ease, biceps visibly tensing under her body weight and Shea’s intense, burning focus. Inhaling slowly, seemingly repeating her earlier relaxation techniques, Shea’s gaze faltered, travelling to the clock upon the wall. From a distance, Shea gathered it was six thirty. It could have been seven thirty, or eight thirty, but Shea doubt she would have cared all that much. Sasha grinned.

“I uh, got you a cookie-”. Offered the Russian girl, shuffling the paper bag towards Shea. “-I figured you’d be hungry, too, after practicing all day”. She empathised, the elation on Shea’s face combined with her quietly mumbled  _thank you_ , making her smile exuberantly. Opening the bag, the fresh scent of baked goods hit Shea’s senses, memories of grandmothers kitchens and Sundays at church. 

“What about you?-”. Shea questioned, bitting in to the soft treat, melted milk chocolate sticking to the corner of her mouth. Sasha lifted an eyebrow in confusion, sipping lightly at her own drink. “-have you eaten?”. She elaborated.

Sasha smiled warmly, though she nodded her head along to Shea’s caring words. Her ruby painted lips continued to suck slowly at her own straw, pigmented colour transferring on to the plastic surface even as she tried her hardest not to smudge the intricately applied substance.

“I had a sandwich earlier, I’m good-”. Clarified Sasha, crossing one leg over the other. Right over left, body tilted to face Shea. “-How, uh - how’ve you been?”. Her fingers twitched nervously, though her eyes glowed with both mirth and intrigue.  _Genuineness_. 

Shea swallowed the remnants of the cookie, throat bobbing visibly as she did so, head tilting quizzically to the side as glanced up from under her batting lashes. She scrunched up the paper bag. Nails, digging in to the flimsy paper rather than the palm of her hand, shoulders slumping and relaxing. Leaning her side against the clear glass window, which was unexpectedly cool under the rays of blasting sunlight and the heat of the air, Shea mirrored Sasha; crossing one leg over the other.

 _Left over right._  
  
She looked uncomfortable. Frigid, even. Sasha did, too, hands twirling a lock of her own hair around her index finger whilst her foot bounced to a non existent beat. Shea toyed with numerous responses in her mind, possibilities seeming infinite - an undiscovered galaxy of words, phrases, and facial expressions. 

They were mere acquaintances. Both girls understood that much, were undeniably in agreement. Neither knew the other, really. With the security blanket and defence of intoxication ripped away, Sasha felt almost like she’d dreamt the whole night they’d spent together, talking - being vulnerable. Shea felt naked. She knew her tank top was damp and see through, yet she felt naked, completely, stripped of her confidence; her front. Void of every detectable characteristic that made Shea, Shea. Sasha felt like she’d stepped out of order, scribbled her colouring pencil too far out of the lines, ruining the drawing.

Shea didn’t think she had an eraser, though she mulled over beginning a new, uncharted picture. Using pastels instead of pencils, or ink instead of paint, maybe.  _Possibly_. 

“We should um, I have my sketchbook with me, let’s just-”. Sasha began rambling, syllables tumbling out of her mouth before the darker haired girl could begin to convert them into legible, coherent words. Leaning down, she pulled her bag up on to the ledge, flecks of glitter spilled across one arm strap that Shea just knew wouldn’t have come from Sasha. She’s not glitter. She’s oil and graphite, not sparkle.  _Neutrality_.

Shea jumped, hand slapping down on top of Sasha’s sketch book, the blondes deep orbs widening. Both blinked once. Recoiling noticeably, Shea allowed her hand to brush across Sasha’s, blurs of red streaking beneath her touch, her fingertips. Mouth agape, words dancing precariously on the tip of her tongue, Sasha uncrossed her legs, only to recross them in the opposite direction. The sketch book slid to the side.

“I’ve been good”. Blurted Shea, her own clammy hand squeezing Sasha’s warm, calloused one once before she retracted it, resting it on her own bare knee. Sasha’s eyes darted up to meet Shea’s, a titillating grin resting pretty on her lips.

“Less high than you were at Katya’s?”. Sasha teased, atmosphere lifting, rising to meet Shea’s grin that appeared. Shea laughed first, airily, Sasha following, deeply.

“A little-”. Shea hummed easily, to which Sasha sniggered amusedly. Sweeping her hair away from her face, Shea felt her inner temperature begin to decrease slightly, sweat no longer prickling at her hairline and cheeks flushed pink instead of red. Less intense.

They were mere acquaintances. Acquaintances that knew details about one and other that they would never think, never dream of telling another soul unless forced to. They’d confided in each other under canopies of rainforests, summer tree houses and flames in confidence. In  _trust_. 

Shea tapped her nails rhythmically across the expanse of her knee. Katya’s beloved  _36 questions_  theory didn’t seem as delusional on recollection as it once did. 

“-I haven’t smoked that much in a long time”. Finished Shea, Sasha’s eyes crinkling as she chuckled. Picking up the sketch book that had slipped from her grasp, Sasha flicked it open, pulling a HB pencil from a side compartment of her bag, though kept her focus firmly on Shea.

“Oh, you’re not the only one. I swear to god I was still stoned this morning”. Confessed the blonde, who began scribbling away at the blank page in front of her, the date written in an italicised cursive font accompanied by ’ _Shea_ ’ in block capitals. The grin that met Shea’s face reached her eyes, almost. Sasha liked it, liked that she’d caused it to appear. 

“Girl, I wish I was still stoned right now”. Shea joked, a strand of hair blowing across her face and restricting her eyesight, the sky outside darkening noticeably under thick clouds and sparse gales. Sasha’s forehead creased, eyebrows knitting together in inquisition. She narrowed her eyes, taking in Shea’s demeanour. Her focus was centred on her lap where she tapped her fingernails anxiously across her leg, somewhat irritatingly, even as she kept a tight hold of her rapidly emptying coffee cup in the other hand.

“Rough day?”. Sasha lowered her volume, her decibels, softened her tone. Shea was grateful. Her head had began pulsing tenuously, signs of a tension headache due to overworking emerging, the throb behind one eye a tell-tale signal. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, soothing the pain momentarily, Shea hummed accordingly, nodding her head.

“It’s just trying to get everything done, I feel like a ball of stress ready to combust and pass out at any minute, y'know?”. Shea chuckled to herself, the image that she’d conjured up in her own mind humouring her. Sasha smiled uncertainly as worry tugged at her subconscious, though her eyes glimmered in understanding.

“I said it earlier, but you really should take a break-”. Sasha slouched forward, the empty space between herself and Shea lessening, pencil remaining clutched tightly in her hand. “-it’s not healthy to physically and emotionally drain yourself all of the time”. Shea understood that Sasha’s goal was not to patronise, instead to protect, make her aware of what she already knew. She shrugged regardlessly, defensively.

“You know how it is, when you love what you do so much, it never feels like you’re working-”.

“Until you crash”. Interrupted Sasha, words hitting Shea imminently, striking through her once undefeated façade. Sasha was familiar with it. Too familiar,  _maybe_. Spending your days and nights absorbed in the passion that grew endlessly for art, or theatre, only for it to become the one thing that you begin to despise most at certain moments. 

Shea gulped. Sasha’s piercing gaze combined with her own acknowledgement told her that she was right. Undeniably so. She’d burnt out, energy levels diminishing into nothingness and yet the will to make herself stop - vanishing.

“Trixie told me the same thing this morning”. Settled Shea, pouting. The Russian chuckled in response, pencil tapping at the corner of her mouth, the smell of wood and graphite infiltrating her nostrils as she moved it back and forth out of habit. Shea’s eyes followed the movement, traveling from the dimple in the blondes cheek, to the pencil just about touching her matte red lip, and to the tip of her tongue, poking between her teeth.

“You should listen to her, she’s not wrong”. Sasha bantered, one eyebrow crooking. Bringing the pencil back down to the sketchbook perched on her thigh, she watched intently as Shea reached the last dregs of her coffee, placing the empty cup down next to her.

“Alright, point taken-”. Sighing, Shea motioned towards the mostly blank page of the sketchbook. “-though you clearly haven’t stopped working, so can you really say much?”. She retaliated, flicking her hair mockingly over her shoulder as a light smile remained on her face.

Sasha’s jaw dropped, mouth agape. Shea snickered at her reaction, removing her hand from her own knee and instead resting in flat on the ledge next to herself. Pursing her lips, Sasha began vaguely outlining a genetically female body shape on to the paper, Shea’s eyes darting to follow the lines she made.

“I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”. Breathed the elder of the two girls, a flush creeping up her fair cheeks. Shea, still giggling to herself, nodded her head slowly, thoughts over how to explain her creative vision for her costume to Sasha, without portraying herself as inept, whirling through her brain.

_“Oh, without a doubt”._

*****

The sun didn’t set as quickly in the summer months. A rose gold, amber tint swept across the city instead, windows glowing citrine and shadows concentrated granite. It was nice, regardless, the grey area between day and night, light and dark existing for longer than it would ever dare to in the autumn, or winter. Shea grew to like it; or  _love_  it. Loved the way that the warmth made Sasha’s usually ashy, white blonde hair appear peachy, and her freckles more pronounced, more prominent and noticeable. 

Sasha smiled at her from across the window ledge, lipstick beginning to fade as the small, barely there clock on the opposite wall of the room ticked away without a thought.

“How do you feel about this?”. Sasha distanced her pencil from the paper, flipping the notebook so that Shea could see the completed design that had transpired from her mind, to her hand, and on to the paper. Shea’s jaw went slack, before a grin spread widely across her face, from cheek to cheek. Squealing excitedly, the dark haired girl lifted a hand to cover at her mouth.

Sasha had captured her vision, her costume effortlessly. She’d transformed Shea’s unintelligible mumblings of  _if the early victorians lived in space in the future, maybe 3016, but monochrome_ , in to a realisation. Sasha felt proud, optimistic, her smile mirroring Shea’s sceptically. 

“That’s it!-”. Shea grasped at Sasha’s shoulder excitedly, pointed acrylic nails pressing uncomfortably in to Sasha’s skin, though Sasha didn’t care - didn’t need to tell her. “-that’s  _actually_  it! I - I love it!”. Continuing to project her excitement, she paid close attention to how Sasha seemingly deflated, became lighter, worry over what Shea would think drifting away. 

“Are you sure about the lace? I mean we could-”.

“It’s perfect”. Shea finalised, satisfaction encompassing her entirely, squeezing Sasha’s shoulder for a second time before she pulled away, allowing the other girl to place the sketch book down in between them. Sasha blushed, Shea’s eyes locking with hers and flashing intensely.

 _Perfect; maybe._  
  
Sasha refocused on the sketch in front of her, boxing off the corner of the page, leaving an empty gap that she titled simply measurements. Sliding off of the window ledge and rummaging aimlessly through her bag, Sasha pulled out a neatly wrapped fabric measuring tape, presenting it to Shea whose eyes flickered in confusion. Sasha retracted her hand. 

“Huh?”. Shea murmured, none the wiser. She followed Sasha off of the ledge, situating herself next to the blonde. Standing up, Shea was taller than Sasha. Not by much, granted, yet enough to make Sasha feel smaller than she would usually; more vulnerable.

“Sorry I - I thought you’d prefer to measure yourself rather than have me do it”. Looking up to see Shea with her eyebrows furrowed, Sasha forced herself to swallow her hesitation. Her fingers twitched, Shea’s strong shoulders contrasting against the soft, sheer fabric of her tank top. Squeezing her eyes closed momentarily, she felt Shea step noticeably closer to her, the distance between them lessening.

“I don’t mind you doing it, at all. I wouldn’t know where to start”. Shea chuckled to herself, pointing to the tape measure curled around Sasha’s nimble fingers. Sasha blinked, blankly, mumbling a quick, barely audible ok.

“It’s just shoulders, waist, hips, leg length”. Spoke Sasha, though she couldn’t decipher wether she was telling Shea or herself, if she was reassuring herself that she wouldn’t have to step in to Shea’s personal space for longer than needed or if - she didn’t know.

 _She didn’t know._  
  
“Fine by me”. Shea hummed teasingly, a surprisingly lustful glimmer projecting from her eyes and wanting smile tickling at her lips. She stood still when Sasha motioned for her to do so, shoulders and back straight. The Russians hands were seemingly suddenly everywhere and nowhere all at once - pressing against the sun kissed skin of her shoulders and the toned muscles of her waist, along with her soft hips and thick, defined thighs. 

Shea thought she wanted them to travel. Wanted them to go on a discourse and dip under the neckline of her tank top, up the hem of it, touch her stomach and further. She acknowledged that the calloused yet soft skin of Sasha’s palms could have left the outside of her legs, and instead moved to the softness of her inner thighs. Shea would have shivered, would have pulled Sasha up and smiled at her, irregardless of the sensations and feelings that she brought to the surface.

She liked it, anyway. Despite Sasha never touching more or touching for longer than she was required to, stepping away from Shea’s deeply breathing body and scribbling down measurements in her sketch book.

“Let me just, get your overall height and then I’ll be done-”.

“Five eight, give or take-”. Shea exhaled, voice shaking more than she would have liked it to. “-saves you the trouble”. She continued, a grateful look plastering itself across Sasha’s face. The blonde nodded in response, though she kept within the same proximity to Shea. Inches apart, barely, heat reverberating between their bodies.

“Cool, I guess we’re done-”. Sasha paused to swallow. “I’ll um, text you when I’m close to finished?”. She proposed, tossing the measuring tape so that it landed on top of her bag that still sat perched on the window ledge.

Shea pondered her response carefully.

The sun had set further, though the aforementioned wall clock had ticked to a halt. Compared to the earlier pink cast, the room appeared almost orange in the later hour, flecks of fire and magenta splashes. Sasha’s ruby lipstick had faded more, more than it had when Shea last caught her self staring at her lips, her straight white teeth nibbling anxiously at the plump bottom one. Her hair looked white again. One strong, pure beam of light striking up half of her face, making her eyes more protuberant than ever; green sprouts that Shea hadn’t noticed previously making themselves visible. Shea nodded her head, making a confident reach for Sasha’s hand that laid at her side.

Sasha inhaled sharply, chest heaving substantially as her eyes tagged on to Shea’s rich, hazel chocolate ones. Interlacing their fingers, she could feel Shea’s throbbing pulse beneath her touch.  _Thump. Pause. Thump._

“Actually, no-”. Contradicted Shea, shaking her head and pulling Sasha even closer towards her by the grip of her hand. “-we’re not done”. She concluded. Demanded, almost. Sasha’s eyes bulged, crossing as Shea stood centimetres away from her, their fronts pressed together.

Sasha was dumbfounded, awestruck. The feeling of Shea’s strong thighs pressed up against her own, combined with the contrast of her soft, plush chest drew a low whimper from her croaky throat, even as her eyes slipped half closed. Shea disconnected their hands, instead choosing to wrap her own securely around Sasha’s shoulders, fingers linking at the back of her neck; tugging lightly on the delicate, bleached baby hairs at the nape.

Sasha could feel Shea’s warm breath hitting her face, the corner of her mouth. She smelt like baked cookies and earthy coffee and Sasha wanted nothing more than to taste it for herself, to connect her lips with Shea’s, have the very essence of chocolate surrounding her. Consuming her.

Moving her hands to rest on the small of Shea’s back, Sasha could feel the contours of her spine, her muscles flexing tantalisingly. Her eyes had fluttered entirely closed, Sasha’s following seconds later as their lips connected, barely, brushing against each others with a featherlight touch. Sasha pressed Shea closer to herself, she could feel the slight dampness of Shea’s tank top against her, began imagining what their bodies would feel like under the confines of bed sheets, clothing removed and inhibitions lessened.

Pulling away, Shea inhaled deeply, only to reconnect their lips with a heightened sense of passion, lust, care. Sasha kissed like she was painting a masterpiece, an intricate portrait in reds and pinks and oranges and yellows, that she would hang centred between her best works.

Shea tugged a little harder on the baby hairs at the nape of Sasha’s neck, kissing as if she was giving the performance of a lifetime; only for Sasha. She pictured them in an empty theatre, Shea pirouetting and moving gracefully around the stage, a low spotlight following her with Sasha sat in the audience - the only person in the audience, smiling back at her gleefully, adoringly.

Sasha pulled back, eyes remaining closed. Shea moved her hand around from the back of Sasha’s neck to her cheek, caressing the soft skin tenderly. Huffing out a breathless laugh as Shea continued, the blonde lent her forehead against the other girls, eyes flashing open, meeting Shea’s reciprocation.

“I like you”. Sasha muttered, Shea’s thumb occupying itself by stroking the dimple that appeared on Sasha’s cheek when she smiled. Shea grinned, placing a fleeting peck to where her thumb had smoothed over before, heart beat pumping wildly in her chest, blood running ferociously through her arteries and veins.

Stepping back in order to make better, prolonged eye contact with Sasha, Shea dropped her hands to Sasha’s waist, the shiver that ran visibly through the shorter girls body making her grin;  _contentment_. 

A low breeze carted itself throughout the room, sunlight almost completely obliterated from the sky, vibrant cranberries and purples replacing it. It was darker, essentially, though Shea could make out the freckles in Sasha’s face with ease. Easier than she could earlier in the night, when they sat at opposite ends of the window ledge in confusion.

“Can we make a deal?”. Questioned Shea, face exuberayting hope, need. Her fingers slipped under the neckline of Sasha’s shirt, rubbing at her collarbones gingerly. Sasha arched an eyebrow, Shea’s touch against a usually unaffected area of her body a welcomed sensation. She cleared her throat.

“Depends”. Sasha laughed easily, frivolously. Her own hands rose from the small of Shea’s back to her shoulders, the heat leaving Shea’s skin indescribable; unheard of.

Smirking, Shea toyed with how she could phrase her proposal, how she could lure Sasha, even if she was almost entirely certain that Sasha felt it, too. Felt the tingle that arose under each others touch, despite the rocketing temperature of the grand room, and felt the sense of comfort, familiarity. Sasha felt like she’d been transported back to their night at Katya’s, under the influence and yet completely accordant, at peace.

“If I take tomorrow off, will you come for an actual coffee with me? Like - I’ll take you to a really sweet coffee house and it’ll be really cute and-”.

“Are you asking me on a date?”. Sasha interrupted, shy smiles settling on both hers and Shea’s faces. Shea shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, though the familiar glint in her eye told the Russian that  _yes, she was_. Without a question, without hesitation. 

“Would you say yes if I was?”. Shea mused hypothetically, her ramblings leading Sasha to giggle amusedly. She could feel the flutterings in her chest, the uncertainty in her mind. Adrenaline still flowed, incomparable to much else Shea had ever felt, Sasha, too. Fiddling unwittingly with the strap of Shea’s tank top, twisting the fabric between her fingers and tugging subconsciously, Shea rolled her eyes fondly. 

Sasha paused, grinning to herself. She placed a gentle kiss to Shea’s awaiting lips, particles of left over red lipstick transferring and smudging further.  _I would._  A final spark of sunlight hit both girls, illuminating. 

_“Absolutely”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this you guys! your support means everything, and I've loved writing this. I hope you've enjoyed<3


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